Truth will out
by Sara Pellow
Summary: A lesson in plain speaking, with a happy ending  of course . Mary and Matthew, talk of Atlantic crossings and too many references to soup  !
1. Chapter 1

**Truth will out**

_For Matthew/Mary shippers who've seen up to episode 5 of Downton Abbey Series 2, I give you a little antidote for your heartache. I wrote this on Downton Day before episode 5 aired. Matthew behaves a little badly at one point so it seemed a bit wrong to post it once I saw the episode. Hopefully it will help tide us all over until the (inevitable, I hope) happy ending. Copyright disclaimer yada yada. _

Matthew's stoicism in the face of his injury was widely admired by the family. What they didn't know was that he was prone to bursts of anger, frustration and despair that seemed to come from nowhere. While she understood it, Mary had been with him almost every hour of every day since he arrived at the hospital three months ago and her own forbearance was being sorely tested, particularly as he seemed to save these outbursts for Mary and, less often, Isobel.

They were taking a turn around the grounds, Matthew in his wheelchair, to escape the clamour of the house. Everyone around him, led by Isobel and Mary, was determined that he could and would walk again. So, on a particularly warm morning they found themselves under the tree where so many of their best and worst moments had played out. Whenever they were there the air seemed to crackle with tension so what transpired on this day was perhaps not surprising.

Mary helped Matthew out of his chair and held his hands as he took the few steps to the bench, offering words of encouragement along the way. His legs buckled as he turned to sit. He managed to land on the bench but to say it was ungainly would be kind. It clearly hurt, but Mary could see it was his pride that was most assaulted.

Mary took a very deep breath. She could sense his anger rising. Her heart was breaking for him but lately, as the rehabilitation became more intense, these eruptions were becoming more frequent and thus more trying.

She handed him his cane so he could steady himself. He smacked it away and it hit Mary on the bridge of her nose.

"Don't treat me like a bloody child!"

Her own blood was boiling now but she remained outwardly calm, if firm, when she replied.

"Matthew, for heaven's sake, you're alive and you have an army of people who care for you and love you."

"Really! What about you? Do you love me? Or are you just hanging around the cripple because no one else will have you?" He had no idea why he said it, any of it.

In his rages he really knew how to hurt her but this was a new low – taunting her not only with questions of love but also the scandal that nearly broke her family. After more than two years of burying her feelings so deep they were surely surfacing in Australia by now, Mary was heartily sick of it. And Matthew behaving as the jilted lover when he was engaged, and she was not, was simply too much. It was with barely concealed rage that she stood abruptly and answered him.

"I love you now, I loved you then and I've loved you every day in between. I will always love you, and I think you know that so please don't be so cruel as to ask me again."

She stalked off. It was all she could do not to run into the house. She was wild with anger, indignation and heartache.

"Nurse Stevens, Captain Crawley will need some assistance to return to the house. Will you see to him please."

As she took the stairs briskly, Isobel, who had heard her instructions, dismissed the nurse and said she would attend to Captain Crawley. She waited several minutes before approaching him. When she did he was staring straight ahead; it was not the thousand yard stare she was used to now, his eyes were full of shock and confusion. At least he's feeling something other than rage or despair, Isobel thought to herself. In fact he looked more like her boy than he had for months, if not years.

She put her hand over his and asked, gently: "Matthew, what is it?"

He broke from his trance and looked at her, a desperate question in his eyes.

"Mary," he said. "Did you know?"

Isobel understood exactly what he was asking.

"Matthew, I think it's as clear to everyone else as it is invisible to you….What are you going to do?"

"There's nothing _to_ do, I'm engaged to Lavinia," he said, with a hint of frustration.

Isobel ventured, carefully: "I notice that you say you're engaged to Lavinia, not that you love her."

"Mother! I do…care very much about Lavinia. And I've made a promise to her. She's stood by me through all this, even when I tried to break it off."

"Yes. And Mary has nursed you almost singlehandedly. She has supported you, comforted you, challenged you. She has been there for you in your darkest hours. She has taken your petulance and impatience. And she has done it without any hope of a future with you."

Matthew put his head in his hands.

"Over the past two years she has been a true friend to Lavinia and protected her from the scheming of her aunt and grandmother. She has never burdened you with her feelings. She has done all of this for _you_, because she loves you and above all else she wants you to be happy…and she believes you love Lavinia above all others."

At this statement he looked up and met Isobel's eyes.

Matthew slumped against the back of the bench. He shook his head slowly, as though resigned.

"I've made a promise. Are you really suggesting I break it and betray Lavinia."

"No matter what you choose to do, my dear boy, someone will be hurt. What you have to decide is whether three hearts are broken or one."


	2. Chapter 2

Before dinner that evening Mary had made sure that she and Matthew were to be seated on the same side of the table but at opposite ends. When she went in, however, she found that the placecards now had them seated diagonally opposite one another. It was going to be much more difficult to avoid his gaze, she thought, but at least they were not seated next to each other. Mary suspected her grandmother of course; she would have been surprised to learn it was Isobel behind this particular scheme.

As the soup course was served Isobel said: "Tell us about your travel plans Mary."

Along with the rest of the family, other than Matthew of course, Isobel knew that for some time Mary had been planning a journey away from Downton; she had learned today that Mary was doing everything she could to bring her plans forward.

Mary was a little taken aback: "Oh, Cousin Isobel, let's not bore the table with news of tickets and itineraries."

"No, do tell us Mary, I want to hear," was Sybil's unknowing but equally unhelpful contribution.

"Well, I _had_ hoped to leave almost immediately but with influenza still threatening, the Mauretania doesn't sail again until autumn." She then gave her full attention to her soup, hoping that her answer would be enough to quell the questions. It was not.

"Where are you planning to travel Mary?" asked Lavinia, looking much too eager for Mary's liking.

"America," she said, as brightly as she could muster. "I'm too scandalous for the east coast but just notorious enough for the west so, after visiting Mama's family in New York, I'll travel to Los Angeles and San Francisco."

Matthew had been listening intently but could no longer contain himself. He did his best to appear nonchalant.

"And how long do you plan to stay?"

There was silence at the table, waiting for Mary's reply. With one long last look at her soup, she raised her head, held it high and looked squarely at Matthew.

"I mean to settle there."

Nobody said a word. Matthew eventually broke their shared gaze and was now intensely interested in his own soup.

"Well, that sounds like a marvellous adventure Mary," said Lavinia.

After a few more awkward moments Cora took charge and before long the assembled guests were once again engaged in polite conversation. Neither Matthew nor Mary was among them.

After a few minutes, Matthew quietly excused himself to Robert, who was seated next to him, and started to wheel his chair backwards, waving away the footman who sprang to his aid.

As Lavinia moved to follow him, Robert motioned kindly for her to stay: "Please, Isobel and I will see Matthew to his room. Once he's settled you can wish him goodnight."

Mary could feel her heart pounding in her ears and was sure the eyes of everyone in the room were on her. She felt a reassuring hand from Sybil reach for hers under the table and she took it gratefully as she tried to maintain her composure.


	3. Chapter 3

After midnight, when Isobel and Lavinia had long since returned to Crawley House and the servants had retired, Mary was still wide awake when she heard a light rap at her door.

With some trepidation she opened the door to find Matthew. Standing there.

"Matthew! How on earth did you find your way here?" She was too shocked to see him there, on the first floor of the house, under his own steam, to remember she was angry with him or that he was there after midnight seeing in her nightclothes. By virtue of nursing him she had seen him many times in his nightwear, and a lot less besides, but he had not seen her like this.

Once her senses returned to her Mary could see he was clearly flagging under the strain of staying upright. She opened the door wide and instinctively took his arm to support him.

"Come in, for goodness sake…and sit down." This time he was thankful for her help and eased himself into the soft armchair she led him to. Mary sat on the end of her bed, facing him.

"Please, can you come closer. I want to talk to you, properly," he said. She was reluctant to do as he bid but she complied, taking the chair from her vanity and seating herself directly in front of him.

"Mary, you can't leave Downton," Matthew said. He reached for her hand but she drew it out of his reach. This had the unfortunate result of his hand finding a resting place on her knee, and he didn't withdraw it.

"I can't stay, not now." Mary was looking down, trying to ignore the warmth of his hand through the silk of her nightgown. If she could just avoid looking at him she could maintain her resolve.

"I'll wake Papa to help you back to your room," she said, and then decided on anger as the best option to avoid crying. She looked at him and said: "As you reminded me today, Matthew, I don't have a very good track record with men in my room late at night."

She stood up to move to the door, as hot tears stung her eyes, but Matthew caught her hand and drew her reluctantly back to her seat. She would not look at him as he held her hand and gazed intently at her.

"I'm so sorry Mary," he said.

"Don't concern yourself Matthew," she was about to follow with a barbed reply but couldn't bring herself to do it. "I know you didn't mean it…I do."

"Not about that, though I'd give anything to take back those dreadful words. I'm sorry I didn't allow myself to see what has apparently been so obvious to everyone else."

She looked at him now: "So, you've come to me in the middle of the night to offer your condolences on my sorry lovelorn state?"

He raised his hand to her cheek to brush away the tears; at his touch she closed her eyes tight, causing even more tears to fall.

"No, that's not why I came to you…in the middle of the night. Do you really think I would risk life and limb scaling those stairs to offer you empty words that would only rub salt into the wound?"

Mary didn't – couldn't – respond.

"Mary, please, look at me," he said gently.

It took all of her will, but she did look at him.

"Do you love me?"

"Of course I do. I can no longer remember a time when I didn't love you and I can't imagine a future where I don't. But surely, it's me who has reason to question _your_ feelings; it's clear to me that you love Lavinia."

Matthew chose his next words carefully.

"When I left you four years ago I said that I wanted to return to real life. Looking back over the past couple of years it's clear to me now that I simply traded one dreamscape for another. I created a life where you never loved me and I no longer loved you. I _have_ loved Lavinia and I care about her very much but…words fail me whenever I try to express how I feel about you. I can only say that I love you above and before all others and that will never change."

Mary searched his eyes. She could see that he meant it but she couldn't take in the enormity of what she had long hoped for yet despaired of ever hearing from him.

"But what good does it do either of us? You're engaged Matthew."

Now it was Matthew's turn to examine his knees. After a moment he said: "I thought you would have heard but it seems Mother managed to spirit her away without alerting the house."

He looked at Mary; there was deep pain in his eyes.

"I don't understand."

"I spoke to Lavinia tonight. I broke off our engagement," Matthew said.

Mary couldn't speak. She was overcome. They were silent for a long time.

Despite himself, for he felt truly ashamed for the hurt he had caused Lavinia, Matthew couldn't help but offer a tentative smile: "I expect this will be the one and only time in our life together where you, my darling Mary, are speechless…Now, I would very much like to kiss you, but I've done about as much standing as I can manage today, so would…"

Before he could finish the sentence Mary's lips were on his. She settled onto the arm of the chair and held his face in hers as they shared a long, languorous, kiss. Her legs draped gently across his and he lightly ran his hand along the full length of her.

When their lips eventually parted and they rested their heads together, Matthew said: "I imagine it's not considered seemly to wait only a matter of hours between one engagement and the next, and out of respect to Lavinia I would like to keep it to ourselves for a time, but…" he said, drawing her face to his and looking into her eyes, "Lady Mary Crawley, will you marry me?"

Mary answered in the only way she could – she kissed him, slowly, softly and deeply. There was no need to rush, safe as they now were in the knowledge that they would be able to kiss as often as they liked, and for as long as they liked, for the rest of their lives.


End file.
